Thirty One
by EveningInHornersCorners
Summary: Those tied to us by blood, no matter how thinly, are not easily forgotten.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: My source for Barry's age is Murray Leinster's book "Land of the Giants," the first novelization of the series, because I could not pinpoint any certain age for him in the actual show.**_

"_Invisible tears are the hardest to wipe away." -Terri Guillemets_

_December 19, 1985_

No one else is up when he leaves. He's tired, very tired. Sleep eluded him for the longest time last night, and when he did eventually drift off, well after midnight, he found himself awake again after a terrifying nightmare.

Stepping out, he sees faint golden rays of early morning sunshine reflect off the _Spindrift_—his home for the past two years.

He's grown up since the crash—after all, what child wouldn't mature in this environment, constantly fearing for one's safety and very life, knowing that a single giant, no matter how small, could bring everything crashing down around you? At sixteen, he's no longer the boy, but one of the men.

In the beginning the others made an attempt to sugarcoat it for him, and he doesn't resent them for it. He was younger then, after all, and they had no idea that life had taught him how to handle himself—himself and at least one other.

For a little while, anyway.

He slips away from the ship, out into the wilderness. He knows it's risky—if he's learned anything, it's that—but he needs to be alone.

It doesn't get cold or snowy here. He doesn't know how it happens that way, only that it does. He stops by a small ledge and sighs.

"She turns thirteen today." he says to the wind, his tone making it sound like the most important thing in the world. "Imagine… she's a young woman now. A teenager. Oh, why aren't I with her?"

He knows the answer, knows it better than he knows anything else.

And somehow the speech that a voice in his head has been rehearsing every day finds its way to his lips.

"Because you were a horrible older brother, that's why. She depended on you, and you failed her. You should have known to find a different shelter, where they couldn't find you. You were immature, Barry. Just plain immature. They were right to separate you from her." A sole tear makes its way down his cheek. It's followed by another one. They shine just as brightly as their glycerin counterparts would.

He doesn't remember the last time he cried. He never dared do it here, not that he recalls; they always treated enough like a "tagalong kid." But he wanted to be one of them, so he never let the tears come, not even curled up in bed at night.

"It's not even like we were close. We didn't team up after Mom and Dad died. For the most part we left each other alone. Both of us—loners."

"Is something wrong, Barry?" a feminine voice, tinged with concern, rings out. For a moment he sees a flash of Cora's face, the ten year old she was when he saw her last, her dark eyes, sitting beneath her furrowed brow, sad and clouded, her curly hair, matted, and her mouth, a wavering line.

Then he realizes who it actually is and can't bring himself to say or do anything more, least of all face Betty.

"Barry, sweetheart, are you sick?" she asks, pulling him towards her and putting a hand on his head. "You're a little warm."

He still doesn't look at her. He doesn't want her to know that warmth came from crying.

"It's my fault. If only I hadn't been so irresponsible…I once even denied her as my sister…can you imagine? I loved her to the moon and back, but I never told her…not once…"

Betty puts a comforting hand on his shoulder. "What was her name?" she inquires quietly.

"Cora." That one word makes him wish all the dammed up tears from the last two years would just break free and cease plaguing him.

But they won't come. And suddenly he's talking to the wind again.

"Why can't I be with her? Where is she? What's happened to her?"

The stewardess looks at the horizon, knowing what she says next will me nothing to him. "I don't know, Barry. Just be grateful that she can't be worse off than us…"


	2. Chapter 2

"_A woman wears her tears like jewelry." –Unknown Author_

_August 12, 1987_

"I'm going out."

Captain George Platt glances up from his desk and at the youngest of his passengers.

He knows that look on her face.

"Umm…anywhere in particular?" he asks casually, twirling his pencil.

"Is it really necessary for you to know?" she asks bitterly.

Captain Platt sighs. "Perhaps not. But for a man to be concerned for another human being isn't criminal, you know."

"Look, the only reason I came is to tell you that I'm leaving, and that was only to obey the regulations. Now if you'll excuse me…"

He puts a hand up. "Hold on a second. You know about the dangerous sightings there've been lately. I can't let you go out alone."

At this there are no screams, no great protests as he expected. She just stands up, eerily calm, and walks out, headed for the forest.

He debates whether to go after her or leave her be, and quickly decides on the former; after all, she's violated several regulations.

And he almost wishes he knew what the matter was.

He catches up to her in a few long strides and puts his hands on her shoulders, stopping her dead in her tracks.

"Honey, what's wrong?" he asks quietly.

She turns her head and stares at him, green eyes burning with the worst kind of hate.

"Don't call me 'Honey.'" She hisses.

He almost backs off, but then decides to stand his ground.

"Why?"

"Because that was what…_he_ called me!" she exclaims, tearing away from his grasp and bolting forward.

The captain puts out a hand, but just misses her collar. He starts to move again, but stops, keeping his distance. Yards ahead he sees her fall, pick herself up, and then turn around, glittering, teary eyes boring into him even from the distance.

"His name was Barry! He turns eighteen today!" she screams manically. "I wouldn't have thought at all about it, except for that. They separated us when I was eleven…it was all my fault…if only I hadn't gotten that library card…" He can see a tear, one of the most sincerity, trickle down her cheek. Her voice softens. "He only called me 'Honey' once, but…he was as good as older brothers come. He protected me for so long before they caught us…no small thanks to me. I never told him how much he meant to me and now he's…gone…" Her voice is caught up in a sob.

Captain Platt steps forward, unsure of what to do. Crying women have never been his forte and yet…he feels drawn towards her.

"Oh, Cora. You poor thing. You know…" he says under his breath, "you're really beautiful when you cry." He doesn't know if she hears that last part, and almost doesn't _want_ her to, even though it's the truth.

He puts a hand on her shoulder. "He's safe. He must be. And at least where he is can't be any worse than the land of the little people…"


End file.
